


for the day is done

by orphan_account



Series: the smell of corruption [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One hundred years changes you. One hundred years with Peter Pan corrupts you. Dark!Wendy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the day is done

Wendy crouches on the roof, and a golden glow mixed with purple highlights Nibs’ stolen shirt on her shoulder, lighting up the night air around it. “Vidia,” she hushes, and the fairy on her shoulder burrows herself further in Wendy’s hair, masking the glow slightly. Wendy can only feel the heat vibrating off of her, as her weight is barely more than a handful of dandelion seeds in her palm. The dagger on her waist and the leather pouch slung over her shoulder weigh more than the fairy.

“What are we going to do to them, dear?” Vidia whispers, and pricks Wendy’s earlobe with her claws. Wendy tries to remember a Neverland full of sunshine and fairies without claws and sparkling sapphire oceans, but all she can draw up is a red-tinted sea and sharp teeth and darkness.

Not the darkness where the moon illuminated the forest, no; the darkness where lost girls trip over vines unseen and are blind to the sky. The darkness where the only light comes from the fairies still drawn to the inner goodness in the island’s mistress.

“Steal their magic,” she tells the fairy on her shoulder, and stands up on the roof. Storybrooke is quiet at this time of night—even from here, she can see 4:42 on the clock tower, miles away from Gold’s house—and no one prowls the streets to see Wendy step off the roof and float to the second-story balcony. Two full necklaces of pixie dust—all she’s been able to take from the pixie dust trees that she managed to reintroduce to the island—hang around her neck, and a third necklace is half-empty.

Wendy slides the dagger out of the sheath that hangs on her hip and holds up her free hand. Vidia hops into it with a small laugh, and Wendy holds it up until the tiny woman is face-to-eye with her. “Go find Felix,” she tells her. “It shouldn’t take long, I hope.”

Vidia’s wings unfold from her back, majestic and white and dragonfly-like, and a predatory smile creeps across her face. “It’s my talent, darling,” she coos, and Wendy resists the urge to bash her head against Gold’s stain glass windows—no one is allowed to call her that, and Vidia knows this—but the fairy has vanished before Wendy can react.

Wendy schools her features as she gazes as the dagger she stole from Rumple so many months ago, and holds it up to cross the moon. “Dark One,” she hisses, and the words sound more snake-like than human. She represses a shudder—I need to do this, for Peter, for Neverland—and chokes on the words that leave her mouth. “I summon thee.”

She only has to wait for a few moments before Rumplestiltskin opens the balcony door and stumbles out, dressed in silky red pajamas and blinking sleep from his eyes. He stiffens the moment he sees her, though, and he is as alert as a jungle cat stalking its prey. “You. How can I help you, dearie?”

Mistress reminds her of what the fairies call her, and it prickles on her skin. Wendy takes a breath and steels her courage, and lifts her face to smirk at him as best she can. “Did Tink ever get her wings back?” she asks.

“Yes,” Rumple grits out. “Did you come all this way to ask after a friend? How touching.”

“Did she use the pixie dust I gave her?”

“The pixie dust is dead, and has always been dead,” he tells her. “The Blue Fairy gave Tinkerbell her wings back.”

“Where is she now?”

“She stays at Granny’s Inn, room 108.”

“Could I steal it without waking her?”

“Perhaps.” Rumple tilts his head, though his fists are clenched. Wendy gazes at the blade, touching the slivered ends where the dreamshade she’d washed off in Neverland’s corrupted springs has corroded the metal. “It depends on if you’re sneaky enough or not. A life on the run has turned that girl into a very light sleeper.”

Wendy spots a purple-golden glow out of the corner of her eye, and holds up her free hand, which Vidia lands on and stares at Rumple, hand cocked on her hip. “I’ve got ‘em, whenever you’re ready,” the fairy tells her, and Wendy nods.

“Do you have any pixie dust with you?” When Rumple nods, she allows herself to smile. “Go get it. Oh, and while you’re there, get a key to your shop, too. Do not stop for anything but the fairy dust and the key. Go now.”

Rumple turns without a word and walks away, and Wendy turns to Vidia. “Where is he?”

Vidia smirks, and her teeth almost look pointed in the night. Wendy’s too used to the sight of the fairies of Neverland now to be scared. They’d only be able to chew on her finger, anyway. “He’s in a jail cell. These Lost Boys I’ve heard about truly are as dangerous as they say, aren’t they? My, my.”

Wendy pinches one of the wings as the door opens, and Vidia lets out an indignant yelp and flutters back up to her shoulder, her claws digging into the back of her neck. “Now why would I ever want to help you?” she hisses into Wendy’s ear, and Wendy smiles and holds out her open hand.

Rumplestiltskin drops a tiny plugged vial of pixie dust, filled all the way to the brim, and Wendy smiles. “This is very old,” he informs her, his mouth twisted, like he’s sucking on a sour prune and can’t bring himself to spit it out. “I took it when I was still a Lost Boy. That’s all I have.”

When Wendy nods, he drops a brass key into her palm, and she again has to bite back a smile until her cheek is bloody and stains her tongue. “The key,” he tells her, and steps back, narrowing his eyes. “Anything else, dearie?”

“Yes. Just a few more things.” Wendy keeps her grip on the dagger’s hilt tight as she walks around him and whispers, “Close your eyes, and don’t move.”

Rumple clenches his jaw, and a painful pleasure spreads through her—until she realizes that she’s relishing his discomfort, that she wants him to feel what Peter felt before he was murdered. Then she squashes the pleasure down into the deep pits of her shadowed heart and takes a deep breath to steady herself. “I want you to wipe all memories of visiting me tonight,” she tells him, and her voice is deceptively soft. “Can you do that for me, Rumple?”

Rumple nods, and holds up both hands—shaking with the force he’s exerting trying to disobey her orders—and for a moment she’s afraid he’ll break the spell binding him to the dagger and turn on her with all the force the Dark One holds. But then his fingers glow purple at the tips when they brush his temples, and his arms fall to hang at his sides.

“What—” he mutters, and Wendy flips the dagger so the hilt is pointing forward and she slams the butt of the dagger into his head so hard he crumples to the floor. Wendy stands for a minute, staring down at him, horror replacing the vindictive pleasure—did I kill him?—when Vidia tugs on a strand of her hair, and she feels a familiar tingling presence by her side.

“You did well, Wendy,” a voice, gravelly and sending shivers up her spine, rasps. “He is not dead. You have other things to worry about.”

Neverland’s Shadow floats in front of her, his eyes squinted and white and cruel and tender all at once, and he lifts up a hand to place it on her shoulder. Wendy can feel his coldness radiating to her bones, but she doesn’t shudder, because she is far too used to Neverland’s cruelty by now. Wendy sheaths her dagger and smiles at the shadow, who pulls away but doesn’t go far.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and Wendy steps up onto the balcony railing, her feet bending around the wood to get a firm grip. The shadow hovers behind her, and his anxiety soaks into her skin and makes her stomach flip when she looks at the ground below. “Don’t be afraid, Wendy,” he soothes.

“It’s you who’s afraid,” she says, and closes her eyes. Flashes of purple swim around her eyelids, and when Vidia tugs on a strand of hair, she leaps forward and spreads her arms.

She can feel the shadow at her side and she forces her eyes to open as she plummets to the ground. At the last minute, she looks up, and her body follows suit, leaving her hovering a few feet above the ground. Her heart pounds in her chest and Vidia’s claws dig deep into her skin until blood dribbles down her neck into Nibs’ tunic.

Wendy takes a moment to calm down, running a hand through her wild hair, and slowly walks forward, still hovering above the road. The fairy dust holds, and the shadow pulls up to walk beside her. “You still need practice,” he tells her, and she clutches her arms around her middle.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to fly again,” she says, and the fear evident in her voice makes her flush and look down. “That was—” she chokes on her words, and fixes her eyes on the street in front of them, but the shadow doesn’t comment on her shame.

“Vidia,” she says, and forces herself to look away from the shadow to hold up a hand to her shoulder. The fairy steps on it and spins around, her gray eyes colorless in the night and her shark teeth gleaming. “In this town is a place called Granny’s Inn. I want you to find it, and find a way to get into Room 108. A woman named Tinkerbell is in there, and hopefully she’s sleeping. There should be a vial of pixie dust, just like this one here on my neck, somewhere around the room or on her. I want you to get it without waking Tinkerbell up. If you find it, we will be at Gold’s shop.”

Vidia tosses her dark, purple-tinted hair over a shoulder and jumps off, speeding away faster than Wendy can blink. By the time she’s disappeared into the night and the clock reads 5:08, Wendy’s pixie dust has faded and she’s walking toward Gold’s shop.

“Wendy, why do you walk?” the shadow asks, hovering over her shoulder, and gooseflesh erupts on her arms again. “You and I both know how much faster flying will be. How much closer we will be to our revenge.”

Wendy grips the vial in her hand as she turns around and holds a hand up, stopping the shadow dead in his tracks. His essence curls around her hand, almost gentle, and she fights back a shiver. “Cael, my first priority is saving Neverland. I can’t focus on avenging Peter if his home is in the state it’s in now.”

“Neverland is unchanged,” the shadow returns, and his eyes burn white and hot. “You cannot save it, bird, no matter how hard you try. Nor can you save Peter.”

“That’s not what you told me when I returned,” she retorts, and pulls away. The numbness in her hand fades as the cold from the shadow gives way, but a part of her still longs for the ice inside, and that makes her take another step back. “You told me Peter could come again. Peter Pan was born of Neverland once; he can be born of Neverland again. That’s what you said.”

“You don’t understand the sacrifice you need,” Cael hisses. The hairs on her neck stand up, but she refuses to be intimidated by Cael, of all things. “Come, Wendy, we still have much to do.”

He starts down the street, and Wendy has to sprint to keep up with him. “What do you mean? Why are you being so vague, Cael? Please, what do I need to do to bring him back?”

Cael whips around and, for the first time, she can see some facial features—the downward turn of his mouth, the scowl that hides the kiss on his lip. He doesn’t look like Peter at all, she has time to think, and then his face becomes a blank mask. “Every boy needs a mother, Wendy,” he says. Wendy clenches her fists, knowing when she’s being mocked, but then he continues, and his words send ice down her spine. “Peter Pan is no different. There’s a reason girls weren’t allowed on the island—until you. He broke all the rules for you.”

With that, he turns and shoots down the street, and Wendy’s legs run before her mind tells them to. Running is something familiar, something which takes her mind off of revenge and bringing Peter back and fixing Neverland, and the feel of the wind through her hair exhilarates her enough that she allows a grin.

Then she sees Cael hovering in front of a door, where a sign reads Mr. Gold’s Pawnbroker & Antiques Dealer across the storefront. Wendy slows to a stop and takes out the key, mulling over his words. “Will I have to die?” she whispers, and holds her breath as she slides the key into the lock. When the door clicks and pops open, she opens the leather sack and drops Rumple’s pixie dust and key inside, then closes it again.

Cael is silent for a long time as he looks over the items in Gold’s shop, but then he lowers to the ground and says in a voice that thrills and terrifies her: “I won’t let that happen.”

Wendy swallows and joins his side, looking down at the panel of wood he’s eyeing. “But a girl will have to die to resurrect Peter,” she says. “A life for a life. Blood magic.”

“She must be willing to die,” the shadow replies, and crouches down to brush his fingers against the wood. A spark dances at his touch, then disappears. “There is much magic in this room. I can teach it all to you, if you would let me. Neverland’s a powerful place, and there is much you have still to learn.”

“I won’t kill her,” she says. “Whoever she’ll be, she won’t die to bring back a dead boy.”

“Peter isn’t—” the shadow stops and draws in a ragged breath. “Wendy, I will return. Whatever you see, don’t be afraid. While I’m gone—”

“While you’re gone?” Wendy asks, and steps back and bumps into two agonized dolls. She recoils from the dolls and faces Cael again. “What are you going to do?”

“Look for a black wand. That will help you when we return to Neverland. Send out your magic and take anything you desire.”

Wendy watches, her words choked in her throat, as Cael rises up and dives through the wood like it’s water. The yellow sparks she’d seen before crackle to life, making little popping noises, and one touches and stings her foot, but they die down after many heart-pounding seconds. Wendy grips the counter, unable to believe what she’s just seen, and then Cael’s words echo in her head.

She closes her eyes, her heartbeat slowing down with each breath, and ignores the trickle of sweat that drips down her temple. _I can do this. Just like I practiced. Just like I practiced. Show me what I need._

When she opens her eyes, items glow white whenever she turns her head. Wendy stifled a gasp and steps forward, opening her pouch again. Don’t think about Cael, she tells herself, but tears prick the corners of her eyes anyway.

Her pouch is half-stuffed and she’s examining a black wand with an intricate silver hilt when Vidia returns and perches on the glass cabinet in front of her. A necklace holding a vial of gray pixie dust is clasped in her hands, making it look oversized for her. Wendy sets the wand down and puts the vial in her quickly crowding pouch and braves a smile.

Vidia’s wicked grin fades when she sees Wendy’s expression. “Wendy, what’s wrong?”

“Can shadows die?” she asks, and her voice sounds faint, even to her. She turns away and shoves a book with golden loops and a ruby in the center of its cover into the pouch, stretching it to its limit. When she squeezes the wand in, there’s only a small square of space left.

“Only by fire, as far as I know.” Vidia’s eyes alight and she floats up, her wings fluttering too quickly for Wendy to see. “What happened to Cael?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Before Vidia can reply, a gush of wind bursts through the door and Cael stumbles in, a gray box tumbling from his hands. Vidia shoots forward and Wendy runs around the counter, but Cael stumbles right through her, leaving Wendy shivering. Wendy whips around and shakes out the chill, horrified. “What did you do?”

“Solidified too much,” Cael replies, and he falls to the ground, landing through a glass cabinet. Wendy is rooted to the floor, and Vidia is perched on her shoulder, holding onto her hair. Cael wheezes and stands up, whirling around. “Wendy—I can’t—I can’t fly back with you holding on. We either stay here until—” he starts coughing and collapses on his knees.

“What’s happening?” Vidia hisses, and Wendy shakes her head, squeezing her hands into fists. I’m helpless. I can’t help him. He can’t even touch me.

Cael recovers and draws in a ragged breath. “We either stay here until I recover,” he croaks, and stands up again, “or we fly back to Neverland individually.”

Wendy thinks of the swirling vortex of blue, of the wind thundering in her ears and falling, and seizes up. “I can’t—”

“We can worry about this later,” Vidia says, jumping away from Wendy to circle nervously in the air. “Two parts of the plan are done. What else do we need to do?”

“Get Felix,” Wendy says. “Cael, will you be all right?”

Cael nods and points to the box he dropped. “We need that, Wendy.”

Wendy scoops the box up and tucks it into the square of space remaining in her pouch. “Be safe,” she tells the shadow, and Cael nods and melts into the darkness outside. Wendy’s gaze lingers on the tree’s shadows for a moment too long before she turns to the fairy. “Vidia, how fast can we fly?”

“You’re going to have to use all your training,” Vidia retorts. “Are you ready?"

Wendy nods, and Vidia circles her head, raining golden-purple dust onto her hair. Already, Wendy can feel the air filling her chest, almost until she bursts, and when she hops forward, her feet never return to the ground. “Show me the way.

“Better keep up,” Vidia sing-songs, and she speeds out of the door. Wendy follows her, clenching her fists to keep her grounded, and focuses only on keeping the purple speed demon in her sight and not the roiling in her stomach.

It is 5:23 when they arrive at the jail. Cael is waiting for them, prowling around the doors, and when he sees them he melts behind the doors. Wendy can see the smoke-like essence solidify into a coherent human shape, and then Cael opens the door. As Wendy slips past them, Cael lets go, and the black tendrils that bind him unravel some more. “Rest,” she pleads with him, and he nods as Vidia whisper-shouts at Wendy to follow her.

When Wendy enters the sheriff’s office, she sees the only two jail cells Storybrooke has. Only one of them is occupied. “Felix,” she breathes, and the only loyal Boy to Peter looks up.

“Wendy-bird,” he greets, coolly, and she runs forward until her face is pressed against the bars. Felix stands up and walks toward her, analyzing her with pale eyes. “You’ve grown.”

She looks down at herself—Neverland’s darkness has made her leaner, hungrier, but also more woman and less child. Her newfound body is hidden underneath Nibs’ clothes, but Wendy can’t help but think that Felix sees it anyway. Wendy looks up and glances him over, too—his hair is longer, his shoulders broader, his body taller. They used to be the same height, once. Now she has to tilt her head to meet his gaze. “So have you. How long have I been gone?”

“A year.” His smile turns into a sneer. “Pan has been dead for a year, and you’ve done nothing.”

Tears prick her eyes again, and Peter’s bloody smile haunts her eyelids when she blinks. “You don’t understand,” she grits out. “Neverland’s broken. I’ve had to fix it—”

“Is that what all that is for?” he asks, nodding to the bursting pouch at her side. Wendy nods.

“Cael—the shadow has been teaching me how to work magic. I think I can save it, Felix.” She extends a hand through the bars, and he clasps it, unhesitant. “We can bring Peter back,” she whispers, and the thought of the consequences—she’ll have to kill someone—scream at her until she regrets her words.

Felix hasn’t reacted, but there’s a firestorm brewing in his eyes. I have to change the subject. “We can fix Neverland together. Come with me,” she whispers. Felix looks at her, and his face softens. Vidia makes a noise and darts between them, touching the lock holding Felix back until the metal is covered in yellow-gold pixie dust. Vidia draws her leg back and gives it a vicious kick, and the pixie dust drifts up in a glittering cloud as the lock springs free.

Wendy steps out of the way of the gate and spins on her heel to face Felix, who still hasn’t moved. “Promise me one thing, Wendy,” he says. He steps forward, and she steps back, until she is pressed against the Sheriff’s desk and he’s in front of her.

“What?” She looks at him, and her gaze darts to the red ugly scar trailing down the side of his face. The scar that Pan gave him—because of her. She almost wishes to touch it, to whisper apologies to Felix, but she holds herself back. There are more important things tonight than reconciling with the last Lost Boy.

“When we fix Neverland,” he says, voice sending shivers down her spine, “promise me we’ll come back. Promise me—”

“We’ll kill them,” she says, her fingers brushing his scar. Felix’s face doesn’t change, but she can see him swallow, and that almost makes her smile. “We’ll kill them all, Felix. I promise.”


End file.
